


A Kind of Blind Love

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1950s, 50slock, Carhop Sherlock, First Time, Greaser John, M/M, Nerd Sherlock, Parking, Slow Dancing, Teenlock, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: John grinned at the pretty little carhop who was whizzing about on his skates and whistled. "Look at this classy chassis over here," he said.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> John is kind of James Dean inspired.

One Friday night, John Watson drove his hot rod down to the drive in diner to grab some grub. To his delight, he found something even more delicious.

John grinned at the pretty little carhop who was whizzing about on his skates and whistled. "Look at this classy chassis over here," he said.

John's buddy Mike looked up. When he cast an eyeball at who John was referring to, he grinned. "Not my type, Clyde."

"Who is that cat, Mike?"

"It's outta my orbit, Johnny Boy. Boy's supposed to be some kinda whiz. Real odd ball."

"He's the most," John said, admiring the boy. "I'm on the hook."

"You say that every week."

"This time, it's for real," John said, staring longingly at the carhop.

"Well you'll have the chance to apple butter your honey in a minute, 'cause here he comes with our food."

"Oh!" John grabbed his comb, ran it through his greased hair nervously. He checked himself in his rear view mirror. "How do I look?"

"Like a punk."

"Drop dead twice!"

"What, and look like you?" Mike laughed.

"Here's your order," said the carhop as he rolled to the side of the car. "Two burgers, two large fries, and two slurgs."

John grinned up at him charmingly. "Hey there, flutter bum. What's your handle?"

The carhop's eyebrows rose in surprise behind his specs. His bony cheeks turned a lovely shade of rose. "Sh-Sherlock," he stammered.

"Pleasure to meet ya, Sherlock. I'm John, and this square over here is my buddy Mike," said John.

"He-hello," said Sherlock shyly.

"So Mike's been tellin' me you've got jets," John said, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Um..." Sherlock pushed his glasses up his nose. "I don't know-"

"Some cat told me you can just tell things about people by lookin' at 'em," Mike supplied helpfully, munching on his burger.

"Well, sure," said Sherlock uncomfortably.

"Well go on then," said John, giving him a smile. "Razz my berries."

Sherlock's lip trembled. "You're just making fun of me!" he accused, slamming down their tray down and skating away.

"Shit," John swore under his breath. He handed the tray over to Mike and hurried after him.

"Hey baby, no need to cut out like that," John huffed once he'd caught up to Sherlock. It was a good thing John was an athlete, otherwise the boy would've gotten away lickety-split. His legs went on for days, _and_ he was on wheels. "Didn't mean to upset you or anything. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you."

Sherlock crossed his arms and glared suspiciously at him. "Why?"

"Well, to be honest..." said John shyly. "You got me pretty snowed."

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he blushed.

"I was thinkin', maybe, if you wanted...we could go out? I'm kinda skinny right now, but we could go for a ride in my ragtop, listen to some sounds maybe...what do you think?"

Sherlock still looked a little doubtful. "You wouldn't be puttin' me on now, would you?"

"Never, baby, never! I...I think you're the bee's knees," John said bashfully.

Sherlock slowly smiled. He was a real doll. "Okay." He pulled out a pen he used for taking orders and wrote his number on John's hand. "Gimme me a bell later. I gotta get back to work now." He began to glide away. Then he looked over his shoulder. "Oh, the name is Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson," the greaser replied.

Sherlock winked with a click of his tongue and skated away.

John whistled as he got back in his car. "Man. I am so gone."

Mike just laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

John dialed the number nervously. He drummed his fingers against the table.

The other end picked up on the third ring. "Holmes residence," said Sherlock's voice.

John grinned. "Hey doll. It's John, from the diner. 'Member me?"

"Obviously," said Sherlock, delighted. "Thanks for calling."

"Wanna go out tomorrow night?" John asked.

"Yes! Oh, but I gotta make up something to tell the folks," Sherlock lowered his voice to a whisper.

"What's the matter, baby? Not allowed to date?"

"Not really that. Just don't want my nosebleed of a brother to find out about you, or else he'll try to meddle."

John laughed. "Sounds like a real square."

"He is," Sherlock assured him.

"Tell them you're tutoring me," John suggested. "You're a brain, right? They'll probably believe you."

"Okay," Sherlock agreed, and gave John his address. "Pick me up at 8?"

"It's a plan, Stan. See you tomorrow." John grinned and hung up, excited.

* * *

John pulled up to the Holmes' house at 7:58. Sherlock was sitting on the stoop out front. He was dressed in a button up shirt, suspenders holding up his tight jeans, and penny loafers for God's sake. John rolled his eyes. For a nerd, Sherlock sure was adorable.

Sherlock approached the car and climbed in. "Is what I'm wearing alright?" he asked nervously.

John laughed fondly. "You look gorgeous to me, doll." He started up his engine and drove off.

Sherlock looked at him curiously. "How old are you?"

"18. Same as you."

"But I've never seen you at school before."

John barked a laugh. "Going to class is for punks. No offense intended, of course."

Sherlock shook his head at him. "No, that's not it, is it? You don't bother with school because you think there's no point, since you're joining the army."

John froze. "How'd you know about the army?"

"Dog tags," said Sherlock, pointing to the chain hanging from the mirror. "They're inscribed to an N. F. Watson. Now they could be an older brother's, but by the age of them, I'd guess more likely your father's. So, military family. And I can tell you don't like your father because the tags are dull, unpolished. If you kept them out of respect, love, you'd wear them around your neck. You hang them out in the open as a subconscious way of associating yourself with army imagery because you're enlisting. Which is a shame because you could've made a promising doctor, had you continued your schooling. But you didn't see any hope, since you don't have enough money for uni - the state of your car and clothes tells me that - so you figured you were doomed to the armed forces. Like father, like son."

John's mouth was wide open in shock by the time Sherlock was done. "Bloody hell...you figured all that out without anyone telling you?"

"Yes."

"And how did you know I wanted to be a doctor?"

"Well that I learned last night. Your wrist was exposed when I wrote my phone number on your hand. Your tattoo - it's a caduceus. A doctor's staff. You didn't just get it because you thought it was cool. You could've gotten a snake or an anchor or something else cliche, but instead you wanted an ink to represent who you are. Plus the medical kit you keep stashed under your seat and the anatomy textbook you've got in your backseat."

John would've been staring in wonder if he hadn't had to watch the road. "That...was amazing."

Sherlock froze. "It was?"

"Of course, it was absolutely...extraordinary."

Sherlock turned pink. He shyly pushed his glasses up his nose. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Beat it or I'll serve you up a knuckle sandwich."

John laughed. He parked the car and turned the lights off, but kept the radio on softly. They had stopped on a cliff looking out over the city. The distant lights looked pretty in the dark. John pulled out a picnic basket from the backseat, filled with apples, cookies, and two cold bottles of pop. (He also had beer, but he didn't think Sherlock probably drank.) "Here," said John, handing him a soda.

Sherlock twisted the top off, then sipped from it. "So, did I get anything wrong?"

John sighed. "You're right. Me and my old man don't get on. For reasons I don't want to get into at the moment. My mum passed away when I was ten. My twin sister, Harriet, she ran away from home when she was 14. I get a postcard from her every once in a while. I finally moved out when I was 16. Mike's dad, he owns a mechanic shop that I work at. He let me move into the little flat upstairs. Before I dropped out of school, I was on the rugby team. Damn good at it. Coulda made captain too, if I'd've stayed."

"You could've tried for sports scholarships," Sherlock suggested.

John shook his head with a sad smile. "Not with my rotten grades, baby doll. I'm a dumbo."

"That can't be true," Sherlock insisted. "Look, if you want, I could tutor you for real. I'm a straight A student. You could get your GED, then try for your A levels."

John chuckled. "You're a sweet little poindexter, aren't you?"

Sherlock bit his lip. "I just...don't want to see you go. You're the first person who's ever...thought I wasn't a freak."

"Hey," said John softly, cupping the other boy's cheek. "You are not a freak, doll. You're amazing and brilliant and beautiful. So you're a little odd, so what? You're the most, Sherlock Holmes, and don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Sherlock's pretty silver-blue eyes glowed behind his glasses. "No foolin'?" he asked in a small voice.

John smiled. "Word from the bird, flutter bum."

Sherlock blushed happily.

"So we've talked all about me. What's your tale, nightingale?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be some action in the next chapter, I swear! Oh, and John's not really dumb. He just thinks he is. He's actually quite bright himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smoking is cool, kids! No, no it's not. Don't smoke, it's icky.

John put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He took a deep drag from it. But when he pulled it from his mouth to exhale, to his surprise, Sherlock plucked it from his fingers and took a puff himself. He smirked at John.

John raised an eyebrow. "Well aren't we full of surprises?" he asked with a grin.

"I hardly ever get a chance to smoke. If my parents found out, they'd kill me."

"You're absolutely wicked, Sherlock Holmes," John teased, stealing his cigarette back. "So, you know what I wanna be. What about you? Big brain like yours, I expect you'll be Prime Minister someday."

"Um, no thank you," said Sherlock, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "My brother is the politician, not me. What I really want to do is..." He paused. "Don't laugh."

"I'm all ears, baby."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I want to be a consulting detective."

"What's that? Like a PI?"

"No. I invented the job. I showed you my skills at drawing conclusions from details I observe; making deductions. I thought I could use my skills to assist the police with their investigations, since they're almost always out of their element."

Sherlock sounded bitter about something to John. The greaser raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed. "Do you remember a couple years back? This boy on the swim team, Carl Powers, he drowned."

"Yeah, think I remember seeing something in the papes about that," John said.

"Well the police concluded that he'd had some kind of episode in the water, but I'm convinced he was murdered. I did my own investigating, but when I tried to talk to the police, they wouldn't listen to me because I was just a kid," Sherlock groused.

"Ain't that a bite," said John sympathetically.

Sherlock sighed, taking the cig from John and inhaling from it. He blew a jet of smoke out the window. "Anyway...puzzle solving. I've always been good at it."

"Sounds like a fine profession," said John, smiling. "Something tells me you could do anything you put your mind to."

Sherlock's face contorted into that adorably confused and bashful look. "Really?" he whispered.

John ground the cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned forward. "Oh yes. Really."

Sherlock held perfectly still as John softly kissed his lips. His palm was curved against his artisan sculpted cheek; his fingers in his chocolate curls. Sherlock's lips were plush and delicious and pliant against his, and John didn't think he'd ever had better.

John pulled back. The other boy was frozen. "Sherlock? You alright?"

Sherlock cautiously opened his eyes. "Uh huh?" He seemed unsure.

"Because I can stop right there if that's what you want-"

"NO!" Sherlock exclaimed quickly.

John laughed. "Alright baby, don't have a conniption." He stroked Sherlock's pouty bottom lip lightly with his thumb. "I dig you a lot, Sherlock Holmes," he rumbled.

"I like you too," Sherlock said softly.

John leaned back in and kissed him again. Sherlock sighed a little and kissed him back. He seemed so soft, so sweet, so...inexperienced...

"Wait," said John, pulling back. "Sherlock, that wasn't your first kiss, was it?"

Sherlock turned red. "I - um...er-"

John couldn't believe it. "Seriously? A pretty little thing like you, never been kissed before?!"

Sherlock was shying away from him. "I'm sorry-"

"Sherlock." John made him look at him. "Do _not_ be sorry." He pulled him closer and pet those soft, soft curls. "You deserve to be kissed so much-" John kissed his cheek. "...all the time..." John kissed his other cheek. "By anyone you want to be kissed by." His forehead. "Because you are so Goddamn lovely, Sherlock Holmes." John finished by kissing him once again on the lips.

Sherlock melted into him as John pulled him flush to his body, kissing deeply. His delicate hand slid up John's pectoral and onto his bicep, squeezing his arm through his leather jacket.

Sherlock was _intoxicating_. His smell drew John in, made him thirst for more. "You are beautiful," he growled softly into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock's lips parted when the tip of John's tongue delicately traced their outline. John gently pushed his tongue in, and Sherlock moaned against him. John's hand clenched in Sherlock's hair at the hungry, sexy noise. John kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

"Climb onto my lap," he whispered.

Sherlock hesitantly slid onto his legs, put one of his own long limbs on either side of John's thighs, never breaking the kiss for a moment. John kept his hands on Sherlock's hips, longing to feel up that darling tight little bum, but remaining a gentleman - mostly.

John tugged on Sherlock's bottom lip and sucked on it. "You are so amazing," he said, switching to kiss a trail along Sherlock's long neck.

Sherlock gasped, his skin tender and oh so gloriously sensitive. John longed to bite down, suck hard, mark up this beautiful boy so everyone would know he belonged to someone. But unfortunately, if Sherlock came home from a tutoring session with an obvious hickie, some eyebrows would be raised.

"John," Sherlock whimpered. John could feel the boy's erection nudging his stomach through his jeans.

John grinned, nibbling Sherlock's earlobe. "You want me to help with that, baby doll?"

Sherlock flushed so beautifully. "I'm...John, I've never-"

"I know, love. I'll take good care of you, I promise you."

John laid out his long, lovely body across the seat. He hovered over him, drinking in the sight of him. His hair was mussed, his cheeks bright pink with innocent arousal. His lips were raw and red from John having kissed him so much. The front of his jeans were tented. John grinned wickedly.

"You really have no idea," said John, slowly unzipping Sherlock's jeans, "just how beautiful you are, do you?"

Sherlock whined as John slid his hand into his pants and curled his hand around his arousal.

"You are absolutely stunning, Sherlock Holmes," John said, pulling him out. His own cock twitched at the sight of Sherlock's erection. Pretty and pink. He wrapped his hand and around and stroked slowly. Sherlock moaned wantonly and arched into John's touch.

Sherlock was a mouthwatering sight to John. His collar was disheveled, his cock protruding from his jeans, pulsating in John's hand. His eyes were swollen and dark with lust. He looked like a perfect debauched angel, and John wanted to ravish him till he was begging John for mercy.

John was giving him slow, steady strokes, from base to tip. He knew the boy was on the edge. Sherlock was leaking at the head, writhing in bliss. " _John_...oh my god..."

"You think that's good, sweetheart," said John, smirking, bending down. "It's about to get a lot better."

Sherlock gasped as John wrapped his lips around his cock, gently taking him all the way in. His warm tongue caressed the sensitive underside, and Sherlock shivered. "John, I'm close," Sherlock whispered.

John just sucked him harder, to let him know it was okay. Sherlock swelled in John's mouth. "John. John! OhHH!" Sherlock cried as he finally came. John swallowed his release expertly, mainly because he didn't want stains on his car seats.

Sherlock was still breathing hard when John pulled off his softening penis. "Oh my God, that...that was incredible!" he gasped.

John chuckled. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

Sherlock giggled back. "And you did donuts in your car in the school parking lot."

John laughed appreciatively and started the ignition. "Come on. I wanna show you my pad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dancing and more sex in the last chapter ;)


End file.
